Part 7 (1/2)

”I should think not.” Nevertheless, he stepped over to the wall and tapped a comm link panel. ”Captain to Mr. Crusher. Report.”

No answer.

It was astounding. Usually response to a page came almost instantaneously. ”Captain to Mr. Crusher. Report.”

At last, Wesley replied ”Crusher here.”

There was something in his voice. Something was distracting him. He sounded as if he were barely paying attention. Perhaps he hadn't even noticed the page at first. ”Is there a problem, Mr. Crusher?”

”Problem?”

Picard frowned. What in the world was wrong with Wesley? Was he getting senile at the ripe old age of sixteen? ”Yes, Mr. Crusher. A problem. A difficulty.”

”A confusion,” Data chimed in helpfully. ”A mishap, a misfortune, a boondoggle, a-”

”Shut up, Data. Mr. Crusher, your a.s.sistance has been requested, and I am now ordering it.”

The response Picard got was hardly what he had expected. For one thing, it was a woman's voice, husky and attractive. Picard knew that the woman who went with that voice was also attractive (although hardly husky). ”This is Dr. Pulaski, Captain,” she said.

Picard blinked in surprise. ”Doctor, I would appreciate your not interrupting. I happen to be having a conversation with Mr. Crusher.”

”I know, Captain. He's down here in sickbay with me.”

Now that was unexpected. Picard had simply a.s.sumed that she had b.u.t.ted in on the comm link-a breech of etiquette, but then that would hardly dissuade a woman like Dr. Katherine Pulaski. ”Is Wesley all right, Doctor?”

If Pulaski took notice of the fact that Picard had dropped the ”Mr. Crusher” reference when he thought Wesley was ill, she made no mention of it. ”No, he's quite all right. However ... ” There was a hesitation, as if she was trying to figure out the best way to phrase it. ”However, he's aiding me in a matter of some urgency. Can you do without him for a while?”

Picard's back stiffened, as it frequently did in these recent days of his getting acquainted with the formidable Dr. Pulaski. ”The stars.h.i.+p Enterprise has done quite well for close to a century before Mr. Crusher came along, Doctor. We can certainly muddle through without him for a while longer, if you need him down there.”

”Oh my,” came the bemused reply. ”Close to a century, you say? May I make note of the fact that this is the fifth model of the good s.h.i.+p Enterprise? And not only that, but it's my understanding that our Mr. Crusher was instrumental, on several occasions, in delaying the need for a sixth? Perhaps if Mr. Crusher had been born a generation earlier, we would still be at NCC-1701 without the 'D' suffix.”

Picard winced.

”Are you through, Doctor?”

He could imagine her beautiful eyes (and, blast and d.a.m.n, why did her eyes have to be so beautiful?) sparkling with merriment. ”Quite through, Captain.”

”Fine. Keep Mr. Crusher with you as long as you need. We'll mu-we'll be fine without him. Picard out.”

He snapped off the intercom in irritation. Then he turned to Riker and said, ”Number One, kindly go down to sickbay and find out what the devil's going on down there. If any of my ensigns, acting or not, are going to be dwelling in Dr. Pulaski's realm I want to know specifics.” He frowned to himself. ”I should have asked her myself, but that woman can be so irritating at times. I'm not certain what in the world you see in her, Number One.”

Riker grinned at that. He had served with Pulaski on an earlier s.h.i.+p a.s.signment and, through time, had become an enthusiastic fan of hers. But he knew that there was a period of adjustment to her style, and he secretly sympathized with what Picard was going through. Very secretly, however. ”She grows on you, sir.”

”Like a fungus,” Picard muttered.

”Or a beard,” Riker suggested.

Picard shot him a look but Riker had already forced a deadpan expression.

Picard's communicator beeped and he tapped his insignia. ”Picard here.”

”Captain,” came Worf's low voice, in a tone indicating that the duty he found least interesting was pa.s.sing along messages, ”we have a communique from Starfleet.”

”I'll be right up,” said Picard, and cut the connection. ”Geordi, bring that thing down to engineering. But if you take it apart, make d.a.m.ned sure you can put it back together again.”

Sounding slightly wounded, Geordi said ”Of course, sir.”

”Good. Mr. Riker, Mr. Data, with me. Mr. Crusher will have to wait.”

They turned to leave and Picard was muttering something to himself. Riker heard enough s.n.a.t.c.hes to prompt him to say, ”Beg pardon, sir?”

”I said,” Picard admitted, ”that your beloved Dr. Pulaski seems determined to challenge my authority.”

”More like establis.h.i.+ng her own, sir.”

The three officers entered the turbolift.

”Do you know,” Picard said slowly, ”what Nietzsche said about women?”

Everytime Data tried to tell a joke, he failed. Now was no exception. ”No, but if you hum a few bars, I'll fake it on my harmonica.”

Riker tilted forward, his forehead against the turbolift door. Picard closed his eyes in pain.

For Data, that was practically an ovation. Thus encouraged, he said with the same intensity that he would have announced a Romulan attack, ”A man leaves his cat with his brother and goes off on vacation ... ”

And Picard, who could have ordered him to stop, in a fit of masochism allowed him to continue.

If I can survive being trapped in a turbolift with Data trying to tell jokes, he reasoned, I can certainly survive anything Starfleet has to tell me.

Chapter Five.

SEATED IN THE conference lounge off the bridge, Picard, Riker, Data, Troi, and Worf stared at the holopic of Admiral Westerby with a collective combination of astonishment and annoyance.

”Admiral,” Picard said slowly, ”are you telling us that Starfleet knew of these apparent weapons advancements by the Kreel, and had not made it general knowledge?”

”What we knew, Captain,” said Westerby with an emphasis on rank to give a not-so-subtle reminder as to who was in charge, ”was nothing. Nothing except rumors, vague intelligence reports. If the Kreel had attacked Vulcan, for example, we would have known everything there was to know immediately. The Klingons, unfortunately, tend to be pretty tight-lipped whenever they run into difficulties. No offense intended, Lieutenant Worf.”

Worf was silent for a moment, and Picard wondered just what was going through his mind.

”One cannot take offense,” said Worf, ”at the truth. Klingons, as a whole, do not like to discuss problems. A sign of weakness, we feel.”

”Problems are one thing, Worf,” said Picard, ”but major attacks by foes bearing vastly improved weapons!”

Worf's gaze bored right through him. ”I a.s.sure you, sir, I had no idea. I would have told you, had I known.”

”Of course you would have, Worf,” Picard said quickly. ”I never meant to imply otherwise.” He turned back to Westerby. ”But now you want me to put my s.h.i.+p, my crew, directly in the middle of this ... this situation?”